


Oasis

by lowflyingidiom



Category: Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Superior Foes of Spider-Man
Genre: M/M, PWP, Shower Sex, Super powered sex, Tentacle sex (kind of)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-05
Updated: 2019-12-05
Packaged: 2021-02-26 21:47:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21685987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lowflyingidiom/pseuds/lowflyingidiom
Summary: Directly after the events of Superior Foes, Herman tries to shake off the events of the preceding days. Morris shows up to add another complication, but ends up making things better anyway.
Relationships: Morris Bench/Herman Schultz
Kudos: 12





	Oasis

**Author's Note:**

> Written within 48 hours of the last issue of Superior Foes being released back in 2014, then lost on a harddrive for many years. Polished and posted now, with apologies if it is incompatible with anything that's been published since that time.

It was not a dark or a stormy night. There was no dramatically convenient lightning. Nothing particularly exceptional punctuated Herman’s exit from the Maggia buildings, ostensibly to some great supervillain hideout of his own. 

The last time he’d seen the inside of his apartment he’d blown the roof out making his escape with Silvermane’s head. He was pretty sure the super would be less than thrilled to see him again. A fairly inglorious homecoming for the newly appointed head of the Maggia. 

He really wanted a hot shower and a soft bed. 

For once grateful that (with his mask and top shoved into a sack in favor of a baggy hoodie) he looked like any other schlub who hadn’t done much since high school football, he ducked into the nearest decent looking motel. The woman at the desk barely gave him a second glance as she passed him a room card through the safety glass, in spite of his tired good nature. He just had that kind of face. 

So the newly crowned head of the Maggia climbed two flights of stairs and swiped into a worn but clean room that was his - gloriously his - for the next two days. A gloomy art print, some soul’s last gasp of decorative originality, hung above the bed. Herman vaguely recognized the picture of the two women as being a Hopper. It suited his mood just fine. 

He dropped his sack onto the floor and wandered toward the bathroom. 

~~~

The water pressure was uninspired, but it was consistent and the water was hot. He dropped his head into the spray and let the steam build in the small bathroom. 

He’d known how tired he was but he hadn’t known how tense until his muscles finally started letting go. 

Apparently being buried alive could do that to a person. He hadn’t thought about it much through the hours of introductions and paperwork and backroom meetings (which looked a lot like executive meetings from the seat Herman had been shown to), all guided along by Silvermane in his ludicrous makeup that no one had seen fit to wash off in the time Herman had been there. By the time three AM had rolled around he’d been ready to crawl into a hole somewhere and sleep for days, and as soon as they’d let him out the door he’d dropped the tail they had on him with an intention of doing exactly that (disappearing into the city’s underbelly had always been a particular skill of his, it seemed he was always going to carry a bit of small time henchman with him). 

Buried alive. His stomach twisted unpleasantly. He hadn’t had time to think about the dark and the quiet and the hopelessness inside that coffin. Somehow he hadn’t really believed Fred would do it. Fred had tried to kill him before but he hadn’t believed, not with the other three standing around, that they’d really drop the lid and leave him there. The sound of earth pattering down on the lid of the casket skittered across the inside of his brain, louder than the water falling in the shower stall. 

He had been too angry, too indignant, too terrified in the moment for despair to take full hold. He was distantly grateful that he hadn’t had time to find out what desperation would have sounded like in the dark of the coffin. 

He probably shouldn’t have lashed out at Morris like that, Herman decided as the water of the motel shower splashed over him. Of all the people who had screwed him over in the previous months at least Morris’s double cross was one he could understand. And god, the man had saved his life. Dumb luck might have let Morris know where to find his mobile, but only real loyalty could make him show up in that kind of hurry. 

Before he could feel all the weight of the earth pressing down on top of him. 

Herman grabbed at the faucets, cranking them both as far as they would go. The pipes rattled protest in the wall and the water began to spew cold from the shower head, sending first gooseflesh then full on shakes that started at his shoulders and ran the full length of him - but the weak stream of water sluicing across his body bore little resemblance to the deluge that had born him from the grave a few hours before.

He didn’t know how long he’d stood there shaking and trying not to hear the dirt striking the coffin lid, when the water was suddenly warm again. 

“Herman, you have to stop this.”

Morris’s voice was so soft it could have been his imagination over the rush of the shower. The half-formed words could have been coming from the water itself. 

Herman’s lips quirked in self mockery at the last thought. 

“You sneak in to peek at all the men in the shower?” he asked. He considered covering himself in response to his own comment, then figured he was a little late on the draw. 

“... Only the ones I really like,” Morris’s voice was more tangible, colored with amusement. The water that spooled around the drain changed direction and began spiraling upward, after a moment forcing Herman to take a step back. 

Another moment later, Morris was standing in the stall as casually as if he’d showed up at Herman’s door with a six pack and a double feature. 

“A little privacy?”

Morris looked half abashed, but shrugged, “It’s all the steam and the condensation in the room. I’m kind of… everywhere.” 

Herman glanced down at where the shower spray was filtering through the front of Morris’s shirt, the illusion of a dark polo dissolving back into clear droplets before splashing against his midsection. His tired brain processed the sight for a moment.

“So am I getting extra… YOU on me right now?”

“I wanted to make sure that you were alright,” Morris ignored the question, “You… well.”

Got buried alive, beat up the guy who rescued him, and accidentally became the head of New York’s second largest crime family all in slightly less than twelve hours. 

“Yeah. Well.” Herman agreed. He hadn’t actually thanked Morris yet for the emergency exhumation. “I’m just gonna,” he inclined his head toward the door and hoped that it fully conveyed ‘go somewhere that isn’t having an awkward heart-to-heart conversation while standing naked in the shower with a man.’

“Wait,” Morris asked, reaching out to curl a hand around Herman’s arm. It was solid and warm in a way that contradicted the water splashing freely through his chest. Herman looked from the thumb rubbing slowly over his bicep up to the soft expression his friend had fixed on him. 

“Morris, is this about to be a gay thing? Because honestly I’m feeling a little naked here and it seems like this is about to be a gay thing.”

Morris hesitated. His fingers flexed on Herman's bare skin. 

“A little, maybe… Do you want me to leave?” 

He considered it. Then he considered the sound of dirt raining down on top of the casket. The feeling of water pouring in on all sides of him, protecting him from the weight of the earth, carrying him up out of the grave. The hand on his arm was very warm.

“No. Stay,” he sighed, “What’s… where did this come from?”

For a long moment, the only sound in the steam-filled bathroom was the patter of water falling against the porcelain floor of the shower before Morris finally answered. 

“I’ve dated a couple of women since going straight,” Herman sniggered at the turn of phrase, but Morris shot him a look, “None of them look at me the way that you do when we’re hanging out watching stupid movies.” 

A voice in the back of Herman’s head told him he could take the entire conversation off its tracks by insisting again that Drunken Master got cheated at the Oscars, but he realized he didn’t really want to. He swallowed the impulse.

“How’s that?” he asked instead. 

“Like I’m a person,” Morris leaned into his space, not quite touching, his face nearly as vulnerable as his confession. 

Finding the right answer was more than he could deal with on top of the rest of his day, and Herman sighed, “Aww, damnit, Morris,” then kissed him. 

Like a floodgate opening Morris was on him, kissing him back like he’d been starved for it. He pressed Herman back against the wall of the shower. He hissed briefly at being pressed against the cool tiles and pushed back against his friend. 

One of Herman’s hands found its way into Morris’s hair and the other wrapped around his back as he returned the frantic kisses, lips sliding together and apart punctuated with soft grazes of teeth, the cumulative stress of the day finally peaking and then falling away. It wasn’t until water had crawled nearly halfway up his shins that Herman noticed anything else out of the ordinary. 

He pulled away to watch the water creeping from the stall floor to swirl up around his knees.

“Is that normal?” Herman asked as the water flowed up his legs. 

“Just wait,” Morris promised against his jaw, then twisted to pull him back into a kiss. Inside the enveloping water, a hand caressed the back of his calf and Herman’s leg tried to give out in surprise, but he was held secure, supported by the hands on his shoulders and the strange hold working up his legs. 

Morris’s tongue brushed inquiringly against his lower lip and he met the new intimacy without a second thought. He answered by sweeping his hand lower, trying to find the combination of movements that would let him sneak the hem of Morris's polo loose from where it was always so tidily tucked and give him access to skin. 

Instead of coming loose in his grip the fabric melted away entirely, his hand running freely up Morris’s bared back. 

“I forgot you could do that,” he mumbled into the other man’s mouth as his fingers traced the muscular lines of his back, and a chuckle was pressed against his lips in answer. 

Something pressed at the back of his over-stretched mind, and he pulled away, “Wait, so you’re just naked ALL THE TIME?” 

Morris grinned, one tooth peeking from the side of his mouth in a way that hadn’t been distracting twelve hours before, and shrugged as if to ask ‘what can you do?’

Herman was about to protest about unfair treatment of his sofa, when Morris took a step back and he was witness to the soft denim jeans that had been pressed against his legs a moment before slide away into pale skin, and his attention was dragged back to the present. 

“Oh, uh,” he faltered, and watched the uncertainty growing on his friend’s face in answer. The fingers of water that had been stroking up around his thighs began backing away down his legs as Morris took another step away. 

“Oh hey, no,” Herman tightened his hand where it had slipped down onto the man’s waist. He let his other hand join it, pulled Morris forward into him again, “Don’t, uh. That was nice, before.” 

“Yeah?” Morris asked, dropping his head down so their foreheads could press together, his searching eyes softer than Herman would have given him credit for if he hadn’t seen it.

“Yeah,” he agreed, angling his head to fit their lips together again. He let his hands slide down the planes of Morris’s exposed skin (all lines of hard muscle where Herman had begun going soft years ago, and he fleetingly wondered how much of this was Morris and how much was just like the polo shirt and fashionably-worn jeans that showed up at his convenience) past the safe line of his waist to curl over his hips. His thumbs played circles over the suggested line of pelvic bone, but didn't quite dare to reach further. 

Morris hummed into his mouth and stepped closer, until Herman pressed back against the wall again and their bodies were flush together, the first full press of bared skin hitting him like the best kind of shock. 

He’d been distantly aware of the pleasant weight of casual arousal for a while, but it lept into full need at the press of a warm, wanting body against him. The answering erection, hard and hot against his abdomen, let him know the feeling was mutual. 

He only paused for a moment.

It was a little bit weird because it was with a guy (watching porn was one thing, but actually going out and cruising for men was something else). And it was a little weird because there were super powers involved (the handsy water was making its ponderous way back up his thighs, reminding him that this was definitely the kinkiest sex he'd ever had). But it was mostly weird because it was Morris - who was pretty good about remembering the beer and usually had his back, who sat across from him at meetings and had pulled him out of the grave... and had been a constant in his life longer than 90% of his actual human relationships and been around at least ten times longer than any of his girlfriends. 

It occurred to him that the feeling of peace and happiness his addled brain was trying to work its way around to was GOOD weird. 

Morris’s hands kept wandering uncertainly over his chest in a way that suggested it might not have been entirely familiar territory for him, either, but it wasn’t unpleasant for all that. 

Herman slipped his hands back to knead gently at Morris's ass, encouraging him to rock his hips forward. Their erections slid together and he groaned, breaking the contact between their mouths. He began placing sucking bites down the other man's neck as they rocked together, breathing hard against the shower soaked skin. 

He barely noticed the tendrils of water that ventured further up his thighs until they stroked, inquiring, at the crease of his ass. Herman sucked in a breath and squirmed, ticklish with surprise. 

Morris's hands smoothed down his sides and the water withdrew a few significant inches. 

“Herman, I want you so badly, can I…?" Morris asked between shakey breaths, his soft, hopeful eyes again on Herman, now blown wide with want. Once, this had been Hydro-Man, domineering, violent, ready to take from the world anything it wouldn't offer freely. 

Morris was the guy who usually remembered the right brand of beer. 

He thought about the faces of the top Maggia members assembled at the conference table watching him for any sign of weakness. 

He thought about being enveloped in water, protected, pulled to the surface after the earth had stopped raining down on the casket lid and his team had left him for dead. 

If Silvermane had convinced him of anything, it was that the only way of getting what you wanted was by going for it. He doubted the man had been talking about super powered ass sex, but was ready to apply the same principals. 

"Yeah, sounds good," Herman agreed.

He figured it wasn't too different from one of his ex-girlfriends who’d felt that there was no blowjob that couldn’t be improved with a few fingers in the back door. It didn't feel good, exactly, not bad either, mostly intense. Morris slid possessive hands around him and a finger pressed into him. What followed was nothing like his ex, the digit flexing and bending into him in ways that human anatomy was never designed to accomplish. 

“Whoa,” Herman estimated, shifting slightly. If questioned he wouldn’t have been able to attest to whether he was moving away from or toward the sensation. 

“Yeah,” Morris grinned at him from close range, free hand rubbing circles over his hip. 

“Give a guy some warning,” Herman breathed, as the finger, hand, MORRIS, that played at his ass began to expand and pulse in waves, stretching and tingling. 

“Yeah,” Morris agreed again, but his smile was unrepentant, “Ready?” 

Herman didn’t have an answer to the question, but considered briefly the relaxed, extended feeling of Morris flowing around him, inside him. He didn’t feel NOT ready. 

“Sure, yeah.” 

The water that had been stroking gently around his legs became a solid thing, lifting him from the ground. For a terrible floating moment when his feet lost contact with the ground he tought he would fall and wrapped an arm instinctively around Morris’s shoulder, the other grabbing for the shower rail, but he found himself still held and supported, just as he had been when Morris had rescued him earlier in the day.

“Oh,” he said, as the cushioning water guided his legs up to wrap around Morris’s waist, held him comfortably suspended, “That was weird.”

“Sorry,” Morris answered, but he didn’t sound sorry, just leaned close to press their lips together again. And really, Herman wasn’t sorry either. 

Herman let go of the shower rail and sank his fingers back into Morris’s short hair, guiding him to tilt his head and deepen the kiss. In answer, the other man’s hands snaked over his hips, one sliding forward to grab his erection. 

Morris’s strong fingers wrapped around him were so much better than just rubbing off against his hip he didn’t notice for a moment that the man seemed to have too many hands.

Before he could find the words to express his question, the hand that probed and stretched inside him was different, suddenly just Morris, long and hard and hot inside him. 

“I told you,” Morris broke the kiss panting, “JUST WAIT.” 

“Holy shit,” Herman agreed, squirming experimentally and making his friend groan and shift against him where their bodies were pressed tight together. 

“Yeah,” Morris agreed, “It’s…” 

Easy. Painless. Way, way WAY better than the kind of porn Herman had promised himself was only for sometimes, “Good,” he decided, and covered the hand over his cock with his own, “come on.” 

“Just give me a minute,” Morris answered, but began to move his hand again, setting a rhythm that encouraged Herman to rock into his hand. In less than a minute, the rest of him joined the movement of his hand, pressing into his friend in long thrusts. 

“Holy shit,” Herman said again when Morris moved inside him. It seemed like the best estimation of the situation.

Morris chuckled, breathy and deep, in response, and Herman couldn’t help joining in. 

It was ridiculous, really. There was no reason, waking up the previous morning, to have expected being shot at by Hammerhead, crashing through his own ceiling on a wing and a prayer, having his team bury him alive, be rescued by his super powered best friend (who he just happened to have butt dialed), then miss the big fire fight only to end up being appointed new head of the Maggia - and for all of that to somehow culminate in 3AM ass-sex in a motel bathroom. Ridiculous. 

The knowledge that there were two times in that list that he had felt genuinely happy to see somebody didn’t escape him, though - or that it had been the same person. 

Then Morris found an angle that hit on something Herman figured was probably his prostate and he didn't think about a whole lot more of anything. He guided Morris's hand over his cock at a quicker pace, muttering encouragement when the man's thumb rubbed over the tip on the upstroke in a smear of precome. 

"Fuck man that's hot," Morris breathed in response, pounding into him like it was their only chance. 

It didn't take him much longer than that, jerking off to the all new feeling of being filled while the water still poured down around them. He came with a shout over his own stomach, over Morris's hand, spasms of pleasure wracking his body and telegraphing into his partner's everywhere they were joined. 

Morris followed not long after, movements becoming small and erratic as he did. He wrapped himself around Herman and came with a moan, emptying himself deeply into his friend. 

For the space of several breaths there was only the sound of the running water to compete with their own laboured breathing, and Herman faced the distant thought that the moment might become awkward, but he stroked a hand down Morris's neck and Morris lifted his face from where it had dropped onto Herman's shoulder for a chaste kiss. 

"Good, right?"

"Yeah."

It was going to be fine. Morris slid free from his body (flowed, in case Herman had been in any danger of forgetting who he was having sex with) and the water that had supported him above the ground placed him gently back on the shower floor. 

Behind Morris's back, the faucets spun closed untouched, dropping the motel bathroom into a sudden stillness. Herman stepped onto the mat and was reaching for a towel but found his wrist caught in the motion and suddenly realized that he didn't need one, although the exact process of where the water had gone between standing in the shower stall and stepping out of it was more than he was ready to think about - maybe some other night. 

He bypassed the towels and walked naked out into the room, dragging the bed covers back and sliding to the far side in invitation. He watched Morris hesitate briefly in the bathroom doorway, something uncertain passing before it had time to be fully realized, then he too was sliding into the sheets, letting Herman draw the duvet around him against the outside world. 

The tangle of limbs under the blankets would be an overheated mess in no time at all, of that Herman had no doubt, but he couldn't bring himself to regret the future while running his hands up Morris's back and feeling the man's breath pressing against the base of his neck. 

From the city lights outside the window, he could just make out the print above the bed, colors softened by nighttime. His perspective on the painting had changed since walking into the room, the women in it now finding a small oasis with each other against the starkness outside. 

He dropped a kiss onto Morris's head and listened to the sound of New York outside the motel, the city happening to some other people for a while.


End file.
